Upir
by Sergeant Tabor
Summary: They say death stalks in the North. Soviet Soldiers find out the hard way that local legends must sometimes be believed. American Fighters find out that the legends give them an edge...
1. Prologue

_They'll come back, next time with bigger guns and more soldiers. -Christopher Stone_

**Prologue-The hunt**

He cradled his Remington 700 in his left arm and his right hand was holding a pair of binoculars to his eyes. Snow slowly drifted through the forest on the outskirts of a town only known to him as Forks. He wasn't familiar with it, only knowing that this was the Headquarters to the Northern Assault by the Soviet Union on America's shores.

He lowered his binocs and lifted the small radio, a trophy picked up from a dead soldier, to his ear. It had been silent for the past hour, which was usual for the Soviet grunts, but now it sizzled to life, "_Everything is clear in sector Alpha-14, moving into Bravo-14._"

The professor of Russian culture and language grinned and went into the prone position, setting his rifle against his shoulder and his cheek against the stock. Popping off the scope covers, he waited silently.

The steady crunch of boots on snow could now be heard in the area causing the Professor to perk up his ears. The direction they came from was unexpected, and he panicked a little. They were now thirty meters to his seven o'clock and put him dangerously close to being discovered. He lay completely still, letting his hearing take over.

"_Do you believe the stories that old man tells?_" It was a boy, barely of conscript age if the Professor could guess. He seemed scared and jumpy. This could play a major disadvantage to the Professor as the young soldier might fire at anything that moved, and it just so happened that there was a rabbit right in front of him.

A harsh laugh was the next thing to be heard, "_You worry too much you Vladimir. Vampires and ghouls don't exist. This may be a land of barbarians, but there are no mystic people who can swoop in unnoticed and drink our blood. That is utter nonsense._"

So, that's what they were excited about, local legends. He suppressed a chuckle; this was going to be fun. Maybe the transfer wasn't the hell he thought it was. He continued to peer down the scope, waiting for his victims to cross the valley he had chosen for them.

They did not disappoint as they crossed into his field of fire, "Bad move comrades," the crosshairs of his scope hovered at the base of the older man's unprotected neck. His right index finger curled around the trigger and slowly moved back until the sharp report of the Remington rang through the forest. The blue eyes of the Professor traced the bullets path until it went through the soldier's neck, spraying a few warm drops of blood on his younger companion.

The young conscript turned around and madly fired the AK-103 he was carrying. None of the bullets came close. Crosshairs sailed over to the Conscript's face, then right above his shoulder. Another shot rang out, causing the young man to jump again and waste more rounds. The Conscript fumbled his hands, trying to find his radio. He did so and raised it his mouth, voice frantic and unsure, "_We have a…a…attackers in sector Bravo-14. I repeat we have,_" Another sniper shot rang out, and the Conscript replied with more automatic fire, "_I'm requesting reinforcements immediately._"

The Professor stood up when the radio transmission was finished, his rifle left in the snow. In his hands he carried a well cared for and well worn Colt M1911. He was wearing a white cloak over gray military fatigues. The cloak's hood was up so very little of his face showed, he was grinning under its shadow.

The Conscript noticed the figure walking towards him, his eyes wide. Pointing the rifle at the cloaked figure he pulled the trigger. Nothing happened, and he got the same result over and over. The Professor chuckled, "_Comrade, it won't magically reload on its own._"

Still wide eyed, the Conscript began to fumble for another magazine. The Professor stopped ten meters away from his target, "_I thank you for alerting your friends, it will make entering your headquarters much easier._"

The Conscript finally fed a fresh magazine into his Kalashnikov, but before he could fire a forty-five round blasted off the Conscript's trigger finger. Smoke trailed from the Colt's muzzle, "_Who the hell are you!?_" The Conscript was yelling, desperately trying to switch the rifle to his other hand.

The Professor's grin turned to a cruel smile, "_I am an Upir,_" He grinned, using the Russian word for vampire to increase the young man's fright. It had the desired effect when his eyes snapped open in alarm. The Colt barked again, a bullet making its way through the Conscript's left eye.

The Professor turned to pick up his rifle while lifting a police issued radio to his mouth, "Distraction is complete, part two of mission is green lighted," he paused, then grinned, "Upir out…"


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1-Wolf Base

**Chapter 1-Wolf Base**

The cabin was warm, almost stuffy, and hidden in the thick of the woods. Four resistance members sat inside, one was working the radios, two stood by the fire, and the last one was asleep on the bunk. All of them oblivious to the swirling of snow or the falling sun.

The door swung open, allowing a sharp cold to blast in. Everyone but the sleeping fighter turned to face the door. A silhouette of a man wearing a long cloak holding a hunting rifle dominated the frame. He was almost six feet and when he walked in he had the stride of a veteran. The light revealed the snow covered man, "Is this Wolf Base?"

"Yes it is, I'm Victoria Frasier," The radio operator was a little shocked by the man's cold, calm, and almost poetic voice. Her hand hovered slightly over the side of her desk, just above the stock of her shotgun. A quick scan revealed the others standing by the fire were readying their weapons.

A low chuckle emanated from the man's throat. Setting his rifle against the wall, he removed his cloak in one smooth motion, eyes never leaving the radio operator, "You know, it's rude to conspire against your guests."

She now had a full picture of the man. He was in his late twenties and wore fatigues colored urban gray. A worn leather belt around his waist sported a pistol, spare clips, a large knife, a flashlight, and a canteen. There was a bandolier across his chest holding thirty ought six rounds for the rifle. On his face was a grin surrounded by a week's worth of stubble. His eyes were a piercing ice blue and hair light brown, almost dark blonde, "I'm not sure if you qualify as a guest. Who the hell are you?" Her hand was now on the butt of the shotgun.

The man let out an unexpected laugh, rousing the sleeping soldier, "I wouldn't do that Miss Frasier," he looked at her left hand, "Sorry, Misses Frasier. I would be able to kill you all before that shotgun was even level. I'm Doctor Gregory Richardson, here to assist you."

"Richardson? You were the one that came from the California resistance force. You were supposed to be here four hours ago," Victoria huffed, acting haughty when in reality she was relieved that he finally made it.

Gregory looked at her and saw the deception, he decided to play along. Digging into his hip pocket he pulled out five sets of dog tags, "I was a little busy. Another group needed my rifle," He tossed them on the floor in front of Victoria. Seeing the shock on her face caused him to chuckle again.

Her eyes never made contact with the tags, she was staring at his blood stained boots, "I see. Well, now that you're here I'll introduce you to the rest of the group," She pointed to the man on the bunk, "That's Pete over there," groggily the man waved. Her hand moved over to the blonde pair standing by the fire, "Those two are the West twins, Arthur and Beth," they just nodded in response, each one cradling an assault rifle.

Nodding, he stepped forward and kneeled to pick up the dog tags. Using this moment, he examined the leader of the resistance group. She was about his age, maybe a year older. Shorter than he was, she looked just as strong. A rugged quality hung about her, more so than him, "You've lived up here for a long time."

"And what is that suppose to mean?" her gray eyes sparked with a dangerous fire.

He stood up, returning to his standing position, "Nothing at all, just an innocent question," he glanced around the room, "I believe you received my bag earlier today along with your supplies. Where is it?"

She jabbed her finger to the corner. He bowed, "Thank you Madame," he said in his most courteous voice he could manage. His eyes lingered on her for a few more seconds, the same coldness in them. His bag had been unceremoniously tossed in the corner of the room, rummaging through it he withdrew a MAC-10 sub machine gun and Bram Stoker's _Dracula_. Removing his bandolier, he placed it gently in the bag and took out the spare clips for the MAC.

Pete spoke next, "And what do we call you? Professor?"

Gregory seemed to think on it, "You may call me," he glanced at the cover, "Upir."

Arthur turned to him inquisitively, "What the hell does that mean?"

Opening the book, Gregory read a paragraph before answering, "It's Russian for vampire. It seems there's a local legend up here about them. I say let's use it to our advantage," covertly peering over the book he saw Victoria stiffen at his sentence. _She's a local, _he told himself, "And besides, your friends at Washington Group have already decided to refer to me as such. It's shorter than the other monikers I've picked up."

Beth cocked an eyebrow, "What other ones?"

"Whispering Death, Hell's Hitman, Angel of Death," He looked at the group collectively become repulsed at the names, "And the White Russian."

"The White Russian!? Are you some sort of traitor?" Arthur pointed the M-14 he had at Gregory.

Slowly shaking his head, Gregory closed his book, "No. In the Russian Civil War after World War One there were two sides: the Bolsheviks, or Red Russians, and the Royalists, or White Russians. It was the name of my resistance group from UCLA three years ago."

There was a collective gasp, "You are a veteran of the first invasion?" "You've killed Soviets before?" "Do you know Christopher Stone?" were some of the questions he was bombarded with. Instead of answering, he stood up, threw on his cloak, and picked up his rifle.

"Where are you going?" Victoria was a little bewildered.

He turned back, a cruel smile on his lips, "Doing what the Upir do best," He opened the door, "Hunt…"


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2-Recoil

**Chapter 2-Recoil**

"What do you feel when you…"Arthur was excited, and it was straining Gregory's nerves. It had been two days since Gregory had arrived and he already began to loathe Wolf Base.

Gregory shot a look back at the young blonde, "What?"

Arthur lifted up his rifle, "You know, kill those Soviet Bastards. What do you…"

"Hush," Gregory hissed, lifting up his left hand.

Arthur looked around nervously; waving his assault rifle around, "What is it?" came a loud whisper.

A grin crossed the Upir's face, "Nothing, I just want a moment of peace," shifting his rifle to his left arm and he looked forward. _Of all the men to be stuck on patrol with, I had to get the hero-worshipping loud mouth. _He shook his head slowly.

"Hmmph…" Arthur was formulating a complaint when he was interrupted by a breaking branch.

Both spines stiffened. Gregory's hand gripped Arthur's arm and drug it, along with the rest of his body, into the brush. The scope's covers were quickly popped off and it began to scan the area. Movement one hundred meters south caught the scope's attention, "We have bogies, three of them," came the harsh whisper of the Upir.

Arthur was now right behind him, rifle at the ready, "Alright, we fire on three then?"

Lowering the Remington, he used a free hand to force the M-14 down. Gregory's voice came sharp and hard, "Bogey mean's unknown. We do not know whether they're friendly or not," letting go of the Arthur's weapon, he raised his rifle again. He could see three men, one with a bullet wound to the arm. They were a rag tag bunch and didn't seem to pose them any threat, "Let's move."

Gregory slung the rifle on his back and unstrapped the MAC-10 from his shoulder and rushed to the fighters, "Hold your fire, I'm Upir from Wolf Base," His weapon was high in the air, but could be brought down at a moment's notice.

The darkest man, a Native American, stood up first. An AK-103 was in his right hand, a tomahawk shoved in his belt, "So you are the mystic force the enemy fears. I am Cody Cochise, leader of Apache Group," He pointed to the man tending to the injured man's wound, "This is Daniel Yates, Apache medic."

"And I'm Edward White," The wounded man offered his good hand and Gregory shook it, "And I'm the leader of," A grin laced with the pain he felt from the wound appeared, "The Vampires," the hand quickly found the grip of the military shotgun.

"Nice name," Gregory put the MAC away and took the rifle in his hands once more, "I'm guessing you boys hit a bit of trouble?" He commenced scanning the area they had just come from.

Daniel spoke up, finishing the dressings on Edward's wound, "Yeah, we were counter attacked after groups Washington, Vampire, and Apache completed a raid on the Soviet oil reserves. It was a mess, there were sixty of us who were part of the raid. We were separated when the tanks and helicopters came in."

"Why wasn't Wolf informed about the attack?" Arthur fumed, his rifle a little shaky.

Before anyone could think of a nice reason, Gregory hissed back, "because we're to few and you guys are untested in battle. It's like throwing someone who is still learning play chess against a grandmaster," He knew Arthur was extremely offended by this, but at the moment he really didn't care. His eyes shifted back to Cody, "Come with us to Wolf base, you can hold up there and try to regroup your fighters."

All three agreed, and not a moment too soon as a bullet smacked the tree behind Upir. The Remington was shouldered, "Alright, Arthur, take Edward and Daniel up the Cabin. Cody, hang with me and let's bloody their noses," the Remington barked, "Oh, by the Arthur," the blonde turned, "Try not to get killed."

Arthur and his two charges ran off into the thick of the woods towards Wolf Base. Upir and Cody lay prone behind a fallen tree, using it as cover, and began to return fire.

The muzzle of the Remington shifted and fired very quickly, each bullet firing true into the skull or chest of a soviet soldier. Gregory was feeding more rounds to the hungry rifle under the cover of the log when he heard the sound of a cannon go off, the same sound following right after it. Cody ducked down beside him, "Our problems got worse my friend."

"Let me guess, it has treads and a thirty millimeter auto cannon," The bolt on the rifle slid forward and home. A nod from Cody was all the answer Upir needed, "Alright then," he removed a grenade from the Apache's belt, "I need you to cover me."

"Wait, what?" but Gregory was already gone, climbing a large tree. Not knowing what else to do, Cody laid down a suppressive fire from his quickly depleting ammo store. He quietly cursed Upir for being reckless. The chatter of the autocannon caused him to duck again as it sent dirt and woodchips in the air.

Gregory could now see the playing field unharassed. He could see approximately fifteen soldiers and a BMP-2 armored personnel carrier. This would have been too easy in Los Angeles or San Diego, but in this area it would be difficult. Peering down the scope he could see an officer barking orders from the turret. _Well, that's one plus. _In fights a tank crew should button up. _Arrogant bastards, _he set the rifle on a branch and jumped to the next tree. A crack made his eyes snap open and his spine stiffen. He expected his little branch to be assaulted by bullets and a quick look down told him they didn't even notice.

Their ignorance emboldened him as he climbed to the next branch and positioned himself to drop down on the vehicle. He hung from the branch, amazed that he still hadn't been spotted, and waited until he was right behind the turret. He hit the deck quietly, crouching as did so. The MAC-10 was quickly brought to bear. Walking with incredible stability on the BMP, he got behind the Officer and delivered a blow behind the neck knocking him out.

The officer was light, which made him easy to remove from the turret. Upir tossed the body in front of the BMP and was rewarded with a bump in the ride. The sudden motion caused the gunner to turn to where Gregory was standing. A boot fell on the young man's face and he tumbled into the main compartment of the armored vehicle.

Gregory hopped into the vacant gunner's position. The power of the gun flowed through him when he turned it on the nearest group of Soviets and squeezed the trigger, mowing down the troops easily. As the barrel shifted to a new group targets the BMP stopped and now troops were ducking for cover, but three of them were too slow to escape the carnage.

A clank of boots on metal told him the driver was coming, "_Comrade!,_" the Driver yelled, "_Comrade Ryzkhov! Why are you…_" the Driver shut up as soon as he saw the sub machine gun in his face. He gasped when he saw that the man was wearing a white cloak and saw the face, which now flashed a smile. The Driver's hands went up to protect his throat, "_…Upir!"_

A low roar of laughter emanated from Gregory's throat, "_You lose Comrade. You should not have been hunting so recklessly. Now it's my turn,_" He squeezed the trigger, letting the bullets fly and riddle the driver's body. Everything seemed to slow down as Gregory watched the body in front of him jerk from the impact of the bullets, blood drops ejecting from the man's chest splashing all over the interior of the tank and Gregory.

With blood on his face, Gregory looked out of the turret and saw the remaining nine troops rush the BMP. He slipped the grenade off his belt and tossed the pin away. Standing up and spray suppressive fire from the BMP's top mounted machine gun, he dropped the grenade inside the BMP.

At this point Cody was now looking over the log and could see the man that struck fear in the hearts of the enemy rise out of the turret. Barely registering the crunch of leaves behind him he watched as the man stood on the turret and leapt into the air two seconds before the armored vehicle chasing him exploded violently. He continued to watch the man flying through the air, the Upir's white, blood speckled, cloak fluttering through the air. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. The Soviets just watched the demon fly through the air until the armored vehicle exploded, several of the Soviets collapsing.

Hitting the ground with a roll, he stood up with both his M1911 and MAC-10 blazing. The explosion took out four out of the nine and his initial volley took out two more. Dodging gunfire he took a Soldier as a human shield. Good Soviet training meant that his shield didn't live for long as he was riddled with his own country's bullet. The distraction allowed him to kill another Soviet.

The last one standing, a big sergeant, tossed his obviously empty rifle to the side. He spread his arms wide and in accented English he yelled, "Face me like man Upir. You are nothing but coward with rifle. I want to see if you have balls to face me," he let out a laugh.

It would have been easy just to shoot him, get him over with. No one would blame him of course, but the Russian's sheer arrogance got to him. The dead soldier crumpled to the ground when Gregory released him, Gregory's guns also fell. With a little flourish he removed his cloak and tossed it onto a low hanging branch. In ten deliberate steps, he moved within one meter of the Sergeant. He dropped down into a fighting position and taunted the Sergeant a little.

The Sergeant drew back for a powerful punch which Gregory easily dodged and in turn delivered a kick to the Sergeant's side which caused a grunt from the bigger man. Another fist came flying at Upir's face, that one he swept aside with his fore arm and then delivered a punishing blow to the Sergeant's face.

Blood was dripping from the Sergeant's broken nose. A scowl had replaced the look of superiority. His veins were showing, his face red. Yelling, he threw all his weight into one seismic punch. It missed Gregory as he rolled to the side and kicked the Sergeant behind the knees, collapsing him.

The Sergeant saw he was losing, and badly. His hand went for his pistol and drew it. He laughed as he shook it, "You're mine now."

A swift kick sent the pistol flying, "_I think it's quite the opposite comrade,_" came the perfect Russian from Upir. The Sergeant looked up in horror at the spotted American, "_I've won,_" It was the smile that scared the Sergeant the most, it was a mix of joy and cruelty.

"_PLEASE DON'T DRINK MY BLOOD!!_" The Sergeant was terrified. He wasn't sure if the legends of the vampires stalking in Washington were true, but he knew if they were, this man was a vampire.

Gregory laughed long and loud, "_No, no comrade, I wouldn't do that,_" he kneeled next to the man, knife in hand, "_I want you to live, to tell your officers what happened today,_" he made two small cuts on the man's neck, "_I want you to tell them what Upir did. I want you to tell them of the fear you felt, the death you saw, the cruelty you experienced. I want them to know that they will pay for every step they take with more and more blood until they are bled out._" He stood up and pointed towards Forks, "_Get moving, my desire to kill you is almost unbearable._" The Sergeant ran away as fast as he could, looking back at the Upir occasionally.

Gregory had picked up his blood stained cloak and weapons when he walked back to where he had left Cody and was only a little shocked to the whole of Wolf Group there, all four of them. They all seemed a bit awed and disturbed. Shaking his head, Gregory walked to Cody who was holding his rifle, "I thought I should get it for you my friend. One less thing for you to do."

Gregory gave him an approving smile, "Thanks Cody."

Cody wasn't quite finished. He took out his tomahawk, "I would like you to have this as a gift from me for saving not only my life, but countless others. And you have the right to refer to me by Apache, Upir."

The Tomahawk looked well taken care of and well used. It was nice and balanced, "Thanks Apache. Aren't you coming with us?"

Cody shook his head, "No, I must go to my camp and see who made it back. If you need to reach me they have my frequency," He extended his hand, "I hope to work with you again Upir."

Gregory took the hand firmly, "Likewise Apache. Good luck."

Gregory turned back to the rag-tag team of fighters and saw Beth pointing at his leg, "You are injured."

Looking down he saw a piece of metal sticking out of his leg, "So I am," he pulled it out as cleanly as possible, very little pain showed on his face compared to how much he felt. Tossing it aside he saw then that Arthur had a video camera, "Turn that thing off," he used his hand to cover the lens.

Victoria was next, "What the hell was that reckless mess? You could have gotten killed," her voice was hard and commanding.

Gregory faced her nonchalantly, "It's my job, getting killed is a hazard," He put on his cloak and placed the rifle in the crook of his arm. He took two steps and turned his head slightly, "Arthur, you asked me what I felt when I killed a Soviet. I feel recoil Arthur…"


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3-Pain

**Chapter 3-Pain**

Victoria was looking over a map of the territory surrounding Forks, Washington. It had been hours since she took a break, and she could feel the exhaustion in her bones.

Peter walked up to her with a cup of stolen coffee, "Why don't you rest up Tory? You've been up for hours looking at this damned map."

The former Army Communications Specialist shook her head, "No, no, NO!!" She yelled, "We will prove ourselves. We must. Wolf Group will have its success. I'll finally have to stop hearing the calls for the God damned Upir every hour. Maybe they'll call on Wolf Base for once," A loud bang could be heard throughout the cabin as she slammed her fists on the table, "Why do we have to be cursed with Upir? Huh Pete? Had James not gotten himself shot down…" Tears burst out of her eyes, the cruel day of the second invasion coming back…

…It was a glorious fight, American Fighter Jets dueling superior numbers of Soviet Bombers and Fighters. First Lieutenant James Frasier of the fledgling US Air Force was one of the first pilots in the sky, flying a SU-47 the Russians had left behind. Before leaving her forever, he gave her a passionate kiss and promised to return. It was an empty promise, they both knew it.

When she had heard the news two days later from his commander, the only surviving member of the Wolf Pack Fighter Squadron, he told a tale of heroism and courage. It was a story she didn't want to hear. A tale of how in stunning aerial maneuvers he took out five fighters and two bombers, in reality making no dent in the literally thousands of bombers and Tens of Thousands of Fighters darkening the skies of the West Coast. Knowing he was only making things worse, the commander tossed his wings on the table, "I'm at your bidding my lady."

She looked up at him, tears still streaming down her face, "Thank you Pete…"

…That had been eight months ago, eight painful months. She still wore the ring; she still loved him with all her heart. Pete and her started out with six fighters, all Air Force or Army personnel. After a series of hit and run missions, they were given an assignment to destroy a Soviet motor pool. It was disastrous, all but two fighters dying in the resulting battle. On top of that Soviet Snipers had tracked the survivors to the location of the fighter's camp. Later that night a tank company along with a squadron of attack helicopters wiped out the small village.

Wolf had never been entrusted with a single mission since. A month ago central command for the loosely organized insurgent movement informed her that she was getting an expert Soviet killer, only giving her a name, Gregory Richardson.

She never did admit how much he had affected her the moment she saw his face, how much he looked like James. But when she saw the cold hardness in his eyes, she knew he was no James, his voice to professional and aloof to be the caring man she married. When he mentioned his rifle, she suddenly despised him. Snipers had ruined her reputation, and there was nothing the Russians were more proud of than their own snipers.

Pete put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "Give him a chance. He's been a real asset to the movement. The enemy fear him," He pointed to the poster the Beth had put on the wall opposite the fireplace, "They are offering any civilian a two and a half million ruble award to anyone who brings in the Upir, that's a hundred thousand dollars. Any soldier who kills him gets the Order of Lenin and will be put in for Hero the Soviet Union."

"He's a god with that rifle of his," she shot a look at him, "I know how much you despise snipers, but he's the best fighter we have."

She rushed to her radios, "That's great, let's create a shrine to him and sacrifice animals to please him. He's impervious to pain, to emotion, to distractions. Yes, let's all praise the Messiah; he has come to lead us to paradise."

At that moment the door flung open, revealing the source of her anger. Gregory walked in, nodding at the pair, and dropped off his rifle and picked up a book and walked out again without a word. It was such a common ritual with him. They all knew it by now. Pete was the first one to say something, "If you despise him that much I'm sure there are many other places that will take him. In his defense he has let you keep command of a unit he would be justified taking."

With that she stormed to the door, the last sentence setting her completely off, "Don't be rash Tory!" She barely registered the plea, her mind occupied with the most caustic and straight forward way to tell him off.

When she finally found him, all thoughts of cruelty and revenge came to a screaming halt. She saw the Upir as a man. He held his cloak tightly around him, fending off the cold that never seemed to bother him. In his hand was a worn velvet box which he stared at, a sad and pained look on his face. She watched as he flipped the box open, the inside showing a quick glint of gold. _A ring? For who? _

"Amour, how I miss you. Our life cut together cut short by Soviets. I will never stop until they do or until I am dead," She heard him choke up a little. His voice, usually cold was now very tender and poetic, "either will be a relief, I…" A crunch of leaves brought his Colt out in an instant, his moment gone and voice back to normal, "Show yourself."

Victoria raised her hands and stepped out slowly, "It's just me Gregory, please put the pistol away," He obeyed, she could see now he was visibly tense. Only slightly visible, but with his usual emotional control he must be torn on the inside. Instantly she cursed herself for interrupting such a tender moment. _So this is where he gets his resolve they so praise him for. How many times does he talk to her?_ Judging by how he acted he had carried that pain with him for a long time, years it seemed like.

He hopped down, quickly stashing the ring box, "I apologize Mrs. Frasier," the coldness in his eyes was beginning to return, "You startled me was all," she silently pleaded for him not to turn into Dracula again. She saw now that the coldness was there not out of choice, but as an emotional buffer. The coldness a mix of a desire for revenge, regret, and lost love.

"I'm sorry, I'll leave if you want," The image of him from a few seconds prior was quickly fading. He was professional again, "What were you doing?"

A small smile flickered on his face, "I was thinking of a plan for Wolf Group," It was the perfect lie to tell someone who hadn't seen his weak moment.

It was then she realized he hadn't noticed her spying, "And what plan would that be?" she began to reassume her command presence she knew was useless around Gregory.

Walking over to an empty patch of ground, he began to draw a few shapes of a small camp and a large dish, "I know how much you want Wolf Base to make a name for itself again, but you have been looking at the wrong target," He felt her shoot a glare at him, "In order to bring down the beast you can't start with the head, you must bring it down to its knees. We used this strategy in Los Angeles and Christopher Stone used it in New York."

Standing up he pointed southwest, "There is a radio tower in the direction. It is used to coordinate everything. It's extremely powerful in their operations. You take it out and you've shut them down. I have information on their patrols and what units are stationed there."

After a few seconds of him not saying anything she looked up, "And the plan?"

A smile spread further across his face, "I thought I'd leave that to you. You are the commander after all, I'm just another rifle," his voice was laced with a little humor, but the words were honest.

The look on her face was that of confusion, "You're the one with experience on this. Do you have any suggestions at least?" It had been a while since she'd actually done a mission and she wasn't sure if she could, performance anxiety froze her up.

Kneeling next to her, he stared into her eyes, "I do have suggestions, but you are the commander. This is your unit not mine. My time to command has already passed. This isn't my territory."

There was a sort of kindness in his cold voice, one filled with regret. _Maybe he is the better commander. _Looking at him she said, "Alright then," He stood up and she followed suit. A questioned burned inside of her, "How many did you command, in Los Angeles?" It wasn't the question she wanted to ask, but she knew the other one would have been touchy.

"When we started I was third in command of a group of thirty, by the time command fell upon me we had fifty. By the time the Soviets retreated of our soil we had seventy, but only eight of those were the original White Russians," Slowly he shook his head and stared into the forest, "The original members all spoke Russian and were well educated," a laugh, "Let's just say we were the black sheep. It wasn't until we were succeeding and dying that they finally accepted us."

She felt a heavy pang of guilt at doing the same thing to him when he came in. _That may be another reason he's so cold. He knows not many accept him as anything more than a killer. He knows that few people trust him and so he trusts no one. _He began to walk deeper in the forest, "I accept you!" she spontaneously shouted after him, immediately covering her mouth. It was such a surprise because only minutes before she was about to tell him off.

Turning his head slightly, she caught a glimpse of a somber smile, "We'll see Victoria…"


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4-Pre-Game Analysis

**Chapter 4-Pre-Game Analysis**

All five members of Wolf Group stood around the table, looking at an intricately drawn map of the tower complex. Victoria had taken charge of the meeting, "Alright Wolves, we have a mission. Gregory has scouted out this location," she pointed to the radio tower, "He says it's a major focal point for Soviet operations. We take it out and they're crippled for a few days, we take it out correctly and they are crippled for weeks. The explosive ordinance man, and second in command for this operation, will be Gregory," He made a slight bow.

Beth raised her hand, "Why him? Don't you have experience with explosive since you were in the Army?"

Victoria looked at Gregory, who kept his composure and said nothing, then at Beth, "In a normal case that would be true. I can in fact blow the son of a bitch up. However, I lack the surgical expertise that Gregory obtained in LA. Remember, we want to take it out correctly."

Gregory just observed her talking. She was finally taking charge he noticed and she held less animosity against him. He had thought about asking Pete, the man who seemed closest to Victoria, about why she hated him so much. The thought left his mind as quickly as it had entered, it didn't really matter to him as long as he had his mission.

That was until two twilights ago when she stumbled upon his quiet reverence. He had seen the change in her that night. An almost complete reversal took place, surprising him. She had becoming almost warm to him, but still kept her distance. He was confused and a little uncomfortable about the change.

"Now then, Pete and Beth will take a couple of RPGs that Gregory has…liberated, and use them on them on the tank here," she pointed to a position on the base's eastern perimeter, "Before that, we need you to lay anti-tank mines along your front to disrupt the enemy. After you destroy the tank we expect that the rest of the armored vehicles will come to respond. Expend as many rockets as you feel you can safely get away with and then retreat."

The finger traveled to North side of the camp, "That should clear the way for Arthur, Gregory, and I to enter the base here. In the resulting chaos of the vehicle destruction, Gregory will take out the sentries and we will proceed in. Once at the base of the tower he should take about thirty seconds to place the charges in the correct positions. We have," She looked at Gregory who was covertly holding three fingers up, "another thirty seconds to escape the blast. We will make a daring escape and get back home…making sure we aren't followed," major emphasis was laid on the last part, "Now I'll let Gregory explain the finer details of the plan."

"Spasibo," Nodding, he pointed to the diagram of the tank, "This is the Soviet T-90 Main Battle Tank. It is heavily armored and armed. Death is its main purpose and truthfully, we stand very little chance in a straight up fight. We must use its main weakness, the rear armor."

"The treads are also weak, but it will do nothing for us as we need to draw them away. It may disable them for a shot at its rear armor," his finger set on the rear of the tank, "But you must remember the turret is still working and aiming for the treads removes the only advantage we have, surprise."

Victoria watched the Professor educate his class on the elimination of Soviets, probably much different than the classes he taught at the university. Instead of teaching Russian, he was teaching the elimination of Russians. She could tell that although they were now working smoother together, he still kept, if he didn't increase, his distance. It seemed the closer she got, the further he'd pull away. What was it that caused him to do that she didn't know, but he did it.

He had moved his finger to the position the 'rocketeers' were going to take, "When you do retreat, be sure to run straight back as to lead any vehicles and troops into our mine field. Unfortunately Soviet doctrine gives us a small problem, not all vehicles will be sent to the sector. Most of the heavy vehicles will though, judging the area as Washington hasn't been a major priority to the invasion so the doctrine is a little more lax than in Los Angeles and New York," he looked at Arthur, "You will take a Rocket Propelled Grenade Launcher and a few spares and clear the way of any stragglers in our path. Drop the weapon as soon as possible, it is useless against infantry."

She noticed how he had taken to young Arthur despite the show of annoyance he always made. Pete had called it a case of Stockholm syndrome. As the young man nodded in understanding, she thought it was more of a professor-student relationship. Arthur was so eager to learn and she suspected that Gregory liked the semi-normalcy that the teaching role gave him; she knew he'd never admit it.

"Remember the firing retreat when we get out. Our goal is to destroy the tower, nothing else. We will not get bogged down in a fire fight unless there are no other options. Understood?" there was a series of nods and acknowledgement, "Good, we leave in six hours, gear up and rest up."

She watched him leave, out of the door, like usual. In his hands were his trusty rifle that he affectionately, as affection as his snowman personality would allow, called Isabelle and a cleaning kit. Maybe that was her name, the woman he talked to every night. It was a very pretty name and if he treated her like he treated that rifle, she was the luckiest woman ever. Victoria's heart panged with a little guilt. The thought of following him immediately left her mind, "No," she told herself, "He needs to gather himself. No matter how much I hate it, he needs to become…Upir…"

…The door shut behind him and he sighed, letting her lingering stare leave him. Once the residual feeling left him he walked deeper into the sanctuary of the forest. January began a bitterly cold New Year as far as he was concerned. Holding the cloak tighter around him, he sat down on a log and slowly opened the rifle cleaning kit. His hand shot into his pocket when the box was open but was removed very slowly, empty.

"No, she wouldn't want to see me do this. She doesn't need to," Gregory said quietly to himself, biting his lip. She may have been tough, but he knew she wouldn't like to see him clean the tool that made him less man and more demon.

The gun itself was docile, left untouched it did nothing much like a hammer or ax. When used it could spell doom or hope, depending on who wielded it. The ability to kill was not unique to the gun, what was unique about that particular weapon was the ability to kill from ranges beyond the sling or bow.

Many prefer to kill with the gun; it is much less personal and easier, though many still find it hard to kill. After a while one can go crazy from the killing, become deeply immersed in anger, guilt, or even a sick joy when in the fire fight. Those were the ones that could not detach their emotions from the fight. Those that could endured their own special insanity, they become cold, emotionless killers. Dehumanized and incapable of feeling guilt, they made perfect candidates for snipers or infiltrators.

He shivered at the thought that she might discover what he had become, a vampire. The bolt cracked open and he ran the cleaning rod through. Meticulously he cleaned and oiled it, making its action smooth and its barrel accurate. With a slam he closed the bolt and tucked the rifle away.

With that he finally allowed himself to look at the little bit of jewelry he had carried with him for four long and painful years. It was beautifully simple, a gold band with a thinner silver band wrapping around it, inlayed in the gold, "It would have been grand…"

…Victoria could not get to sleep, no matter how hard she tried. The fact the others dozed around her didn't help. She tossed once more before she felt a cold draft, causing her to glance at the door.

She saw Gregory quickly shut the door and glance over the fighters in a manner of a father looking over his children. Laying in such a manner to appear sleeping, she silently observed the man. Nodding his head in approval he walked to the darkest, coldest corner of the room, sat on the ground with his back against the wall and his rifle across his knees and then proceeded to sleep.

The vision of him sleeping seemed to comfort her in a strange way, allowing her body to respond to how tired it was and shut itself down.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5-The Best Laid Plans…

**Chapter 5-The Best Laid Plans…**

Three freedom fighters watched as the sun set behind their objective, a large radio tower. The serenity of the forest, increased by the darkening horizon, was soon to be broken. A glare hit Victoria's eye, she glanced over to see Arthur, decked out with his rifle strapped to his chest and three rockets sticking out from behind his back, nervously checking his watch. Gregory's hand gripped Arthur's shoulder, "watch what you are doing my young friend, if the sentries had seen that the mission would have been finished. Its five minutes until the attack starts."

Arthur nodded and quickly hid the watch. Victoria had to suppress a grin. So she had been right, he had taken to the kid. Her gaze shifted to the ghost of a man as he walked to her. Getting on his haunches he pointed to entrance of the base, "Once I take out the sentries Arthur will advance fifty meters, stop, and wave you forward. Once you're fifty meters in front of him wave me forward. We'll do this until we are either inside or we come under fire. If this works correctly we should be in and out in three minutes, six tops…if that works for you ma'am"

A giggle was suppressed, he still made sure to keep her in command when this plan of hers was almost one hundred percent his, "Of course Gregory, it sounds like the best plan. Now get back to your post, we have four more minutes," she watched as he nodded and returned to his post, disappearing amongst the snow drift he found.

Arthur watched the exchange, still amazed at his teacher's calmness and genius. _No wonder he was a college professor_, he thought, _he was probably a great one_. Arthur was nineteen years old and all he had to look forward to was the profession logging, it was what his father's, grandfather's, great grandfather's, and so on and so forth, until Dr. Richardson came through the door on that cold night.

He knew at first how irritated the great warrior must have been to have a little snot nosed teenager following him, but Arthur learned to follow the sniper's lead. After a while, Gregory became less caustic and even became very helpful. Their first lessons together were the proper care of weapons, preventative maintenance is what Gregory called it, which was a skill Arthur greatly lacked preferring to fix as it broke. Soon the training migrated to weapons shooting. The first lessons were geared to training the young fighter on how not to, as Gregory put it, 'spray and pray'. Accuracy and ammo control on the basic rifle, he even got trigger time with Isabella, the famed Remington 700. Next was pistol training, something a lot harder than it looked. Their last training session involved only one shot, a rocket into the side of an abandoned truck.

Now they sat out in the cold, his first real mission. He was excited, nervous, and afraid. If Gregory wasn't there he would be freaked out of his mind. He noticed how the legend of the vampire, and having one in their midst, seemed to have a calming effect over the group. Settling on a rock, he shouldered his RPG and aimed it at a Soviet Armored Jeep.

Explosions reverberated through the forest, the attack beginning. A slight grin appeared over the Upir's face as he watched a BMP and the armored jeep pass. _This is going better than planned_, he signaled to the younger man to drop the RPG. Two rifle shots later, they were moving in.

Arthur was first, steps were a little loud, but the ongoing battle covered them for the most part. After ten seconds he waved forward Victoria, who ran with lighter steps than the blonde but still uncomfortably heavy for Gregory. Another ten seconds after her stop came the silent form of the Upir crossing the ground, rifle raised and the area was scanned. A full two minutes later they were all in the base.

The deadly gauntlet of gunfire had not yet opened up. This encouraged the natives of Washington, this deeply troubled the veteran. The Upir's eyes swooped the camp and saw not a soul. Victoria tapped his shoulder, "I think maybe they were less than you thought."

Gregory shook his head as he withdrew his MAC 10. _This isn't right, we should be swarmed right now, or at least a few potshots. _He extended the shoulder stock on the sub and continued to slowly walk down the path leading to the tower, scanning every window and opening. His spine suddenly stiffened, "EVERYONE FIND COVER!!"

It was the first time anyone had heard Gregory yell. Victoria was confused until she heard the rumble of the engine in behind them causing her to ducked into an alley. _No wonder he was nervous._ There was chatter of a heavy machine gun as it chewed the dirt path they were just in. Fear was consuming her.

Arthur tried to calm himself down, gripping his rifle tighter. One of Gregory's lessons rolling through his mind, _the scariest sound on an active battle field is silence. _Taking deep breaths he peered around the corner and saw a small armored reconnaissance jeep peppering the road. As he turned back he saw his teacher loading a single round in his rifle.

A single armor piercing round was driven home in the Remington, the single round that he still had from years back. He listened for the sound, the empty click of the machine gun and then silence. He shouldered his rifle, "Alright Isabelle, its show time," his ears picked up the final click. It took the standard soldier five to ten seconds to reload the PK machine gun, in that time he had to take out the driver and the exposed gunner. The rifle was swung fast around the corner, barking almost immediately. Not even checking to see the result he cocked the rifle again and put a bullet in the gunners head.

Slowly Gregory came out while scanning the streets with his rifle, "It's clear," the other two came out and gathered on his position. Isabelle was now strapped to his back, the MAC 10 out again, "Victoria, you cover the right side of the path. Arthur, you take left. We'll drive right up there and take out the tower. Keep your ears and eyes open, we don't need more surprises," Victoria nodded while Arthur just took his position.

With a small forward motion of his hand they began to slowly move down the street. No spot was left unswept, guards heightened, fingers tightened. The tower loomed closer and closer, a nervous chill running through all their spines.

It had been years since Gregory had used C4, years since he took down a structure. He knew he could take the tower down no problem; he questioned his ability to turn it into an unmovable heap of scrap that would frustrate the Soviets for weeks. No anxiety showed of course, that was never his style, but inside he was full of anxiety. It exploded in him when he touched the steel supports. Slipping the side pouch with the C4 in it off his shoulder, he turned to the other fighters, "Thirty seconds…" The ping of a bullet hitting metal punctuated his sentence. Everyone scrambled as their position was swarmed by Soviets.

Arthur squeezed the trigger sending four bullets blindly down range. He quickly took control of his mad rifle and began to aim, Gregory's words and lessons flooding through him. A slow breath, a calm finger, an unwavering grip, a keen eye were all required to be a good fighter. Squeezing the trigger he took down one soviet, then another. A grim smile spread on his face.

_Shoonk…_The shotgun spoke, feeding itself with another shell. The barrel pointed to another hapless soul and spit out a pray of deadly buckshot. She was frantically trying to keep the swarm away. _A trap, we fell into a trap! _Memories of her last mission began to consume her, blinding her with fear. Her breathing was shallow, rapid and she was sweating in the deep cold of a Washington winter. Her head snapped up in time to see a demonic looking soldier driving a bayonet tipped rifle at her. Closing her eyes she heard a quick burst of fire and a body crumple and felt warm flecks on her face. Opening her eyes she caught the Upir swinging his sub machinegun from her attacker to more advancing foes. Looking at his calm form she regained confidence and began to kill once again.

The MAC-10 spit more deadly fire at two soldiers who were caught climbing through the steel supports of the tower. The MAC spit its last round and was quickly tossed aside, a dropped PP-19 Bizon sub machinegun replacing it. Back in his element Gregory felt he had control of the battlefield, nothing could stop him. Another spray of lead cleared the path to the last strut, the pinging of the bullets against the steel around him doing nothing to slow him. A final detonator was placed snuggly into the last brick of C4.

He turned with a grin of satisfaction that turned quickly to a look of horror, "ARTHUR!!" The young man collapsed his chest full of holes. Rage filled the Upir and upon seeing his mark, a rather large Russian with a RPK machine aiming at Victoria, he rushed at him with knife drawn. The knife plunged into the soldier's neck, snapping his vertebrae and cutting his windpipe. Gregory smiled demonically.

Victoria now resorted to an M9 Berretta, desperately trying to fight off the numerically superior forces. The fear had returned ten fold. She fumbled with a magazine trying to reload her spent pistol when a bullet caught her leg, knocking her down. A pounding of boots rushed in her direction, she knew she was dead. _Well James, it looks like I'll see you soon. _The sound of automatic fire washed over her, she even heard the brass hit the cement around her but she didn't feel the hot lead penetrate her body.

Breath coming in gasps, her eyes opened and revealed a pair of combat boots in a see of brass shells. She looked up and saw the expression of raw hatred and anger in Gregory's face, a smoking machinegun in his hand. With a clatter the Machinegun was dropped when he stooped down to pick up an assault rifle, firing it as he stood up. Victoria shook as she watched him, scared but feeling very safe at the same time.

Gregory ran towards three soldiers disembarking from a jeep. The butt of his rifle made contact with the officer's jaw then it was driven into the side of his skull. With a rapid turn, he squeezed the trigger on his rifle putting three holes into a sergeant's chest. His gaze shifted to a young private; scared out of his mind realizing who it was that he was facing, "RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!" Gregory shouted, plunging the bayonet deep into the man, a fiery rage in Gregory's eyes. He pulled the trigger, wasting the private completely.

Victoria watched the spectacle, never seeing so much emotion in the man and didn't know what caused it. She couldn't think of anything that would drive him crazy like that and it scared her a little. She watched as he took big heaving breaths, toss the rifle away, and walk towards her, "What's wrong Gregory?"

Gregory kneeled beside her, lifting her up and carrying her to the abandoned jeep, "The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry," He put her in the passenger seat and he walked back to the tower. She sat there trying not to worry. _What the hell did he mean?_ A thunk in the back of the jeep and Gregory starting the engine brought her back to reality. She looked over at Gregory and saw a tear roll down his face as he drove away, confusing her.

An explosion erupted behind them and she watched as the mighty tower fell causing a smile of triumph to spread across her face. When she looked down her smile disappeared. _That's why he's upset_, she stared into the lifeless face of Arthur, Gregory's favorite student. She sunk into her seat and blacked out, tears flowing down her cheeks.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6-** **Snegurochka**

She was lying on soft meadow grass and felt extremely comfortable. The feel of a cool breeze blew over her. She was wearing a skirt, the one that James had bought her for her birthday. Looking around she noticed that she was in a clearing, a meadow in the middle of a dense forest.

She sat up, leaning back on her hands, and looked about. Her eyes gazed in amazement at the surrounding area, the beauty of it engulfing her. Flowers and grass under a moonlit sky. Behind her she heard footsteps, "Well my sweet angel, how do you like our little sanctuary?"

Her head arched back to look at him, "It's perfect, just how I remembered it."

"Just how you remember it?" James kissed her tenderly then sat next to her, bag in hand.

Vitoria giggled, "Maybe not exactly, you were still…what did you call it? Courting me? You're so old fashioned," She pushed him playfully.

He chuckled, "That's because I'm come from what the Soviets refer to as the Bourgeoisie and Americans call old money," Another kiss, "But you know, I'm not completely old fashioned," His grin grew a little wicked.

Her eyes opened a little wider, "That is true. We were already quite intimate before this," She raised her hand and pointed to the wedding ring. Her gaze remained on him, she felt as if she were in a fairy tale, a rescue by a prince on a white horse, or in this case, a fighter jet.

She still couldn't believe it. She was just a simple Army Corporal from the small town of Forks. Her father a Sheriff and her mother was a logger. Naturally she was tough and her parents had only made her tougher. She lost her mother when she was fifteen and joined the army when she turned eighteen and stayed in for eight years, her job in the as a communication specialist keeping her from the frontlines.

At the completion of the first invasion she discovered her father had been one of the first to be put to death by the Soviets. She was alone at that moment until this knight showed up fresh from fighter school in a SU-47. Brash but an impeccable gentleman, she fell in love with him as soon as he stepped into the bar. She was courted like a lady and a few months later they were married.

James chuckled, "Why is there a twinkle in your eye my love?"

Victoria kissed him happily, "Because I was thinking of you my sweet."

His smile softened, "You know, you look tense," Her ears pricked when he said that and knew instantly what he was going to do next in their private sanctuary. She watched as his fingers moved to her leg and began to massage it. Her body relaxed, falling lightly against the grass, her eyes closing.

His hands moved slowly up her leg and she began tingling all over. Her head lifted slowly and with a smile on her face she opened her eyes and saw…

…_Gregory?!?_ She glanced around again, seeing she was back in the familiar surroundings of Wolf Base. Her eyes fell back upon the Upir, his hands gently wrapping the wound on her lower thigh, "Hello Gregory."

"Good Morning Victoria," Gregory's eye did not leave the wrapping, tenderly wrapping her leg.

_He's like James…sort of. _She mused, realizing her body was still tingling. She was tried to force the thoughts out of her head, "Morning? How long have I been out?"

The Soviet Officer's watch adorning Gregory's wrist moved slightly into his field of vision, "One day, twenty hours and twenty eight minutes," And he had stayed by her side for every single second. For some reason he would not let himself leave her side, a reason he did not know…or care to admit, not even to himself.

Thoughts of how similar Gregory was to James still filtered through her mind, only now James was being replaced by the similar looking Gregory. _No, no! Get out of my head. _Her eyes shot back to the ring she still wore on her left hand. _Oh no! _The ring was gone and she was panicking, "Looking for this?" He asked, holding the tarnished ring.

Quickly she felt rage, "GIVE ME THAT!!! Who gave you the right?" She grabbed the ring but before putting the ring on her finger she saw that it was also wrapped up.

Gregory stood up, "Metal splinter," He moved to the fire and removed a pan from the fire and walked over to a small table next to the cot she was on. Again he walked to the fire and removed a pot, pouring the tea into two cups, "Can you walk?"

"Yeah," It was then she realized how warm she actually was, the fire was roaring and the random cracks in the wall were now patched up. _I bet he did this. But did he do it all for…me?_ She was about to shove what she thought was a ridiculous idea out of her head when she saw what was on the table, "What is that?"

His hand worked a knife, cutting at the loaf of bread, "It is Russian Black Bread, fresh bread mind you. It was a challenge to get the ingredients, but I did. And one of those teas is for you."

She gingerly lifted her cup and sniffed at it, spice and vanilla filling making her nose tingle, "It smells different…good, but different. What blend is it?" She wasn't a tea drinker, always preferring coffee. _He looks like a tea drinker though, _she observed.

Gregory set the bread on a small cutting board, "It is called Prince Vladimir. Drink, it is good, trust me."

With a slight nod she sipped, immediately filling her with a spiced sensation. Her eyes widened a bit, "It is delicious, and it may drive me off coffee."

A friendly chuckle, and as far as Victoria was concerned a beautiful chuckle, emanated from Gregory's throat, "Hopefully not, I don't have much of it left. One of the curses of liking Russian cuisine, it's damn hard to get."

Setting the cup down, she looked at him, "Where are you from?" Her curiosity finally catching up with her, "You know I'm from here, but where did you call home?"

She sensed hesitation, as if he was trying to figure out if he should answer or not, "I'm from Brighton Beach, New York. Its better know as Little Odessa."

Eyes widening a bit more, "You are…are…"

"I am of Russian and Ukrainian ethnicity, but I assure you I'm an America," He saw the disbelief in her face, "My father's family escaped Russia after World War One and my mother's family escaped from Ukraine after World War Two. I have more of a reason to hate the Soviets than the average American," He began to tremble slightly, another memory filtering to the surface. Forcing it down he handed her a freshly buttered slice of bread.

Taking the plate, she realized how hungry she was, "So that is why you are so interested in Russian Culture…you lived it."

He nodded, "We were so hated, but we all took it in stride. The American dream was our goal and my parents were so proud when I got my acceptance letter to UCLA. I was avoided like the plague there, but no matter what anyone said I was going to stick to my old ways."

"You're name doesn't sound very Russian," She bit into the bread. _He is good with food. Maybe he is God._

"Thank you, my parents tried. My full name is Gregory Vladimir Richardson. My Father's family decided to change their last name after they came to America so they could fit in. Originally their family name was Rokhlin."

A giggle left her unexpectedly, "Is that why your favorite tea happens to be Prince Vladimir?"

A suppressed laugh, "That's exactly why. My mother said I was her little Tsarevich, or Prince. So, I was her little Prince Vladimir. So what about you my Snegurochka? What of your life?"

_Snegurochka? _She wondered, but shook her head and was about to speak when the door flung open, "DR. RICHARDSON!!!" Beth yelled, running in with a folded piece of paper, Pete following close behind her. When she reached him, she handed over the paper and breathless she said, "Somebody from the President's Office came to give you this."

The Upir, his face now all business, grabbed the paper and glanced over it. While he was reading, Victoria asked, "Where's Arthur?" All the other spines in the room, "Where is he?"

Eyes darted from one face to another before Gregory sighed, "Victoria, don't you remember?" With those words, a flood of memories flooded into her mind.

"Where is he?" She asked again, not fully believing them despite her memories.

Gregory's face was still calm, "Outside in the snow waiting for his burial," Tears began to flood down Victoria's face and she grabbed onto him. A little shocked, he timidly returned the embrace, "Don't melt Snegurochka, the spring is still far off."


	8. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer-I am not of the Eastern Orthodox Faith. This is meant to consolidate what you already know about Gregory and to show that not all Russians were Soviets. I apologize for any mistakes I make in the proceedings or if this offends anyone._

**Chapter 7-Dasvidania**

The censer swung slowly in Gregory's hand as he finished the prayer of absolution. He silently admitted to himself that this wasn't a perfect service, no one but him truly knowing how an Orthodox Funeral worked. They all had seen funerals, but Arthur had expressly desired to all of Wolf Base that he wished to be buried like Gregory would before Arthur's death. This is how it had to be.

No one but Arthur had known of his religion, Eastern Orthodox, until just a day ago. It was the religion of his ancestors and a few days before Arthur's death Gregory converted him. He was no clergyman by any means, but he knew the workings of the Orthodox Church because of his pious parents and how Orthodox Funerals work, because he had seen many.

The faces of the attendees were somber to emotionless. The crying from Beth was surprisingly stable; she kept her composure well even though she had just lost her twin. After the initial shock had worn off, Victoria was calm, very little distress showing on her face. _The perfect snegurochka, _he mused. His gaze shifting to the hard faced Pete, only his eyes betraying emotion. _Of course, he lost his whole fighter squadron, he knows what it's like._

Everyone had their candles, all forty attendees. Most of these were leaders of the major fighter groups in the area. With a final swing of the censer, Gregory called out to the congregation, "Will all in attendance please rise and form a line for the last kiss," With confusion, the gathered mass followed his orders and lined up along the front of the coffin.

With a silent nod, Beth went first giving her late brother a kiss on the forehead. She moved down and set her candle down into the holder. On and on this process went until there were six left, the Pallbearers. With a handful of earth, Gregory made a cross on Arthur's body. With a silent nod, the group placed the lid on the coffin and lifted it slowly.

The group left the meadow Victoria had suggested they hold the ceremony and walked in a procession to Wolf Base. Slowly, the censer swinging in rhythm, they marched the kilometer back to base. In the rear of the procession the Perebor was sounding. A small bell followed by increasingly larger bells until the reached a bell barely small enough to be carried by hand then they all rung in unison.

Throughout the ceremony the various commanders stationed riflemen to guard the funeral, the fear of the noise attracting the Soviet's attention was great. The fact that most of the key leadership of the resistance movement were all in one place only increased their fears.

They reached the burial site and slowly the coffin was set into the grave. Gregory poured the incense ash from the censure on top of the coffin. Removing the shovel stuck into ground, he scooped up some dirt and tossed it on the grave in the shape of the cross, "The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof," Slowly the some of the group gathered around and helped fill in the grave.

Victoria took a step forward when she heard a voice behind her, "I didn't take Commander Richardson to be a religious man," Turning revealed a blonde, tall, slender man, "Did you?"

She locked eyes with the man, charm forming an aura around him, "He isn't, but he takes death very seriously. His religion is freedom, his bible the constitution. But when it comes to death, he needs solace. This is the only way he knows how to bring closure to the lives he once knew."

A slight scoff, "Well, he's been through this a lot then hasn't he. The hand of death seems to follow him wherever he goes."

A hard glare shot from her eyes, "Excuse me, I need to go bury a friend," She made a sharp turn and walked towards the grave site, taking a shovel from another fighter she put on the last of the dirt.

Quietly Gregory turned back to the reassembled gathering, "This was a great man, a free American to the core. It was once said by another great American that it is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died, rather, we should thank God that such men lived. We should all thank god that he did live, that he died doing his duty to his nation and the people he cared about. I must admit that when I met him he was raw, he had the heart, but not the skill. But he did have one thing, an eagerness to learn."

"So I taught him all that I could. I could not ask more from a student, and I am proud of him. I never did tell him that, and I wish I could have. He will be deeply missed, that I know for certain. But he would want us to fight on, to drive the Soviet from our soil. And we must do that," He pointed to the grave, "Because his sacrifice should not go in vain."

He gave a solemn nod, "Thank you all for attending, this concludes the ceremony. All commanders gather out in front of the cabin, the rest of you are dismissed."

The group slowly filtered out and when the last of them left Gregory kneeled at the grave, "Dasvidania my brother, we shall meet once more in the afterlife," He placed his hand on the grave and grabbed some of the dirt, letting it fall through his fingers.

A hand fell lightly on his shoulder, "He meant a lot to you, didn't he."

A sigh, "He was my favorite student, one of the most attentive and eager to learn. He was the least fearful of my heritage. I will be fine though, death isn't new to me…people much closer to me have died."

She gripped his shoulder a bit more, "You will be fine. We need you here amongst the living, Arthur would understand that."

His hand moved to rest on hers, "You are correct Snegurochka…"


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8-Words of the Patriots**

Victoria watched as Gregory removed his black outer cassock in the same elegant fashion as he removed his cloak and hung it on a low hanging branch revealing the closely fitted inner cassock and a leather shoulder holster sheltering his beloved M1911 pistol. _A gun toting priest…fitting._ She followed him to a small clearing wear the commanders from Washington and Oregon were. They were sitting around chatting quietly amongst themselves when they sensed his presence. For a while now Victoria knew that the Upir didn't require an introduction to be noticed, his aura was enough.

The blue eyes scanned the small groups. Some gathered by geography, others by a common skill, and still others by culture. He also sensed another, deeper divide, a sense of animosity between two groups. They had gathered into two groups and when he saw Commanders Cochise and White in the smaller group he knew how much work he had ahead of him. _It looks as though I'll have to caulk this hull before we set sail. _Stopping between both groups, he quietly calculated the odds of a coup being conducted by the larger group, "Good evening Commanders, I am General Gregory Richardson, the new Commander of all Northwestern forces."

"We know who the hell you are you Russian Priest!" A hotheaded woman shouted. Victoria, who had placed herself some distance behind Gregory, found herself moving closer to Cody, her hand curling around the slide of the shotgun.

Lifting his head to lock eyes with the taller woman, who had at least a good three inches of height on him, and said in his standard, somber tone, "That is good, then I can dispense with introductions Commander Hale," His eyes held the Woman's for another brief second, no challenge or fire, just authority. Then, as if she had not interrupted him, he walked past her, "As such, I am in charge of Oregon and Washington. This action of removing General Black and moving me into his position was personally done by President Isabella Angelina Stone," Coolly, he shifted his gaze from face to face, "That is the President of the United States, she holds ultimate authority."

Victoria suppressed a grin, knowing what he was attempting to do and thought it rather brilliant. He was invoking the name of the Heroine of the First Invasion. They may challenge him on the grounds of loyalty to General Black, but they wouldn't dare challenge one of the fighting pair of New York. It was then she saw the blond from the funeral stand up and stride to Gregory, "Then the question is Vlad, why would our _beloved_ President decide that course of action?"

_Maybe they will challenge her as well._ Victoria groaned. Gregory looked into the blond man's eyes and quickly she noticed how much taller his opposition was and gulped. Her eyes fell on him and marveled at how cool he was, "You will not talk of the President like that, not in my presence Commander Dillon," Tundra laced the words, causing chills to run up spines, "And her purpose for choosing me was to choose the most capable Commander in the area, that responsibility fell to me."

"Weren't you just a simple rifleman?" Commander Jessica Hale scoffed. _How dare an upstart like this take command?_

Gregory was suddenly very tired, "I was known as the Christopher Stone of the West. My command responsibility was over the Los Angeles," Slowly he lifted his head, "An area extremely valuable to the Soviets and suffered much like New York. Under my guide we went from losing the city to driving the Soviets out," The eyes of the Upir locked with Blond who was now very aware of the consequences of his question, "I am American, I've spilt enough of their blood," His finger shot in the direction of Forks, "And mine to prove it."

As the hand fell Victoria saw it clench into his fist, "Anyone else have any problems?" His eyebrow was raised slightly. No one had seen him angry, not until now. Victoria picked up on the subtle signs having become a sort of an expert on his emotions, "Anyone?" He took three long strides towards the group, "Does anyone else want to bring up my ancestry? Who else wants to claim that I am unfit to lead?" His fist slowly opened and calmed his voice, "How many of you believe that my Father's family being from Russia and my Mother's family being from Ukraine makes me untrustworthy?"

The member's of the smaller group all felt a pang of sadness and distress when they saw the large group almost unanimously raise their hands. Victoria ran to his side in time to catch him whispering, "Like damned Los Angeles," Lifting his head high and licking his lips, she sensed an angered frustration from him she had never sensed before, "My Great-grandfather was a cavalry man with the White Russians during the original revolution fighting against the Communists long before any of you were born. He was driven out of his homeland and came to America," The sound of crunching snow was the only sound heard as he moved deeper into the group, "My Grandmother's family was starved when the Red Army blockaded Ukraine, killing millions. She joined a partisan movement not unlike us to retrieve food and to run an ultimately failed resistance movement before she too escaped to these shores. My family has been fighting the Soviets ever since they came into being, before anyone of your families even knew what a Soviet was," Stopping, he stared out into the forest, "Next time you leak my past in an effort to turn people against me, I suggest you think about how to avoid making yourself look like a fool as well."

The former General growled a retort, "And what makes you think I leaked the information?"

"It is because you are too much of a cowardly politician to say it straight to my face Commander Black," The Upir's voice was now calm and even, "You'd rather have your real attack dogs do the dirty work," Looking over his shoulder, not even giving the deposed General a second look, his eyes fell on the pair, "The real strength behind your leadership. Let them destroy me then convince all of the commanders that I cannot be trusted," He turned back to the smaller group, "Cowards like you make me sick. You'd rather lose the war than lose your rank."

"I am NO COWARD!!!" Jason Black stood up quickly and Gregory could see Commander Cochise's assault rifle level, which in turn brought the muzzles of Hale and Dillon's rifles in sharp response. The racking of two shotguns rang through the forest as Victoria and Edward leveled their weapons.

Gregory could feel the tensions rising in that small patch of forest and strongly resisted the urge to draw his Colt. He didn't want to add to this Mexican Standoff. Without turning around, knowing he'd be staring down the barrel of a pistol, he responded, "No Mister Black, you are no patriot that is what you aren't. You would rather throw this unproductive coup than serve your country,"

Victoria's hands were shaking. She never thought she would have to fight fellow Americans, but there she was aiming her shotgun at one. The two cohorts of Commander Black seemed cool, too cool, with the fact they were about to gun down other commanders. _This is madness. _She thought, chancing a glance at Gregory who stood there resolutely and without fear. This steeled her resolve.

He wasn't as resolute as Victoria thought, but he had to act it, "Commanders of the Northwestern Resistance. You have a choice to make. You can join Commanders Black, Hale, and Dillon's coup and weaken our efforts, lose even more than we already have, and compromise the security of the United States of America!" He added emphasis to the last word, "Or you can follow the orders of your President, join me, and we repel the Soviets and free our homeland. We free it for us, for our children, for our grandchildren. We will make sure that our nation will always enjoy freedom, the freedom we were founded upon," Quickly Gregory turned around, grabbed Jason's wrist and twisted it hard, bringing the man to his knees, the pistol he had held landed with an unceremonious plop in the snow, "A freedom that Commander Black here is willing to sacrifice."

A grimace of pain crossed Jason's face. Commander Dillon's rifle now pointed at Gregory's back, "We can't win this war, we need to surrender. We don't have the men or the materials to beat them."

"No," The Professor instructed, twisting the wrist a little more, "What we lacked was a commander with the wisdom and the balls to do what was right, to actually attack," Gregory let go and crouched down, picking up the pistol that sunk into the snow. Standing up, he turned around, "We won during the first invasion not by sitting on our asses, not by having superior numbers or equipment, but by going on the attack. Making the Soviets pay for every bit of land they occupied, every life they took."

Victoria, and for that matter most of the commanders, was stunned that Commander Black had been so desperate to be a Hero that he'd become a Benedict Arnold for the Soviets. What stunned them the most though was when Gregory walked up to the blond pointing the AK at his chest, "Commander, arrest Mister Black for treason," Gregory's voice was calm and nonthreatening but the words carried the weight they needed to.

Commander Carl Dillon held the rifle up and attempted to look defiantly in Gregory's eyes, but found he could not beat the Russian. Slowly he lowered his rifle, "Yes General," Running to his former boss thoughts raced through his mind. _Maybe this Russian won't be as bad as I thought. _He knew though that wasn't the reason he relented, he feared the Upir. Although having a reputation as a tough fighter himself, the Upir was well known and something of a nightmarish legend by the Soviets.

"Put the gun down Commander Hale," A whisper, barely audible, escaped Gregory as he lowered the muzzle of her weapon. Jessica watched as his hand went for the butt of the Colt even as she dropped the rifle. Rumors of his near superhuman reflexes flashed through her mind, "That goes for you three as well."

Shakily Victoria lowered her shotgun and watched Gregory's hand lower at the same time, dropping back calmly to his side. With calm steps the man from New York walked once more to stand between the groups, "We should execute him!" A man from the back of 'loyal' group shouted. Victoria saw Gregory shoot a look at who she assumed was the yeller.

"No, we will not turn into them," Gregory attempted to mask his disgust as he pointed in the distance, obviously referring to the Soviet Union, "They hold show trials, they execute men at the mere whim of their commanders," He tapped his chest, "We hold trials for our citizens, we have our Constitution," His hand motions punctuated his point near perfectly, leading Victoria to wonder how many impassioned speeches he had made in his younger days. It seemed to her that he had made similar arguments in the past, during the first invasion, maybe even before that, "That is what we must defend, otherwise we end up like them."

A slow roll of applause echoed through the small forest, "Today will be marked as the day we stopped merely surviving the Soviets, today will be the day that our children and grandchildren will know as the turning point when we began taking the fight back to the enemy, when we drove them from our nation, our Shining City on a Hill, Bastion of Freedom!" The cheering grew louder with even Commander's Dillon and Hale applauding.

Regaining his composure, giving Victoria a grin and a nod before going completely somber, Gregory motioned for the applause to die down, "Now then, onto business…"


End file.
